


Remains

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>deengoblue prompted: "Bobby and Rufus? Adventure times or just bitching."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remains

Rufus brings marshmallows to Bobby's first salt and burn.

"You gonna be a hunter," he says, hunkered down in the warm glow from the pit they spent half the night digging under Marion Gilchrist's headstone, "gotta make your own rewards. You think you're gonna get any thanks from anybody else, you're in the wrong line of work." Like he does it every day, he spits three marshmallows on the long, thin stick he'd twisted off a young maple at the edge of the cemetery, then lowers them down to roast over the flames.

The burning casket sends up smoke from the lining and noisy cracks and pops from the old wood. Through the fire, Bobby can see the blackened curve of Marion's ribcage. When Rufus holds up the marshmallow bag to him, he stares, incredulous. "That was a person, Rufus."

"You're absolutely right." Rufus doesn't even glance up from his marshmallows. "That _was_ a person. Ain't one no more." The marshmallows catch fire, start to blacken inside a smooth orange lick of flame; Rufus raises them out of the pit, turning them carefully so they scorch evenly on all sides. Then he blows them out with a satisfied puff of breath and pulls off the one on the end, turns to hold it up to Bobby. "What?" he asks at Bobby's appalled look. "You don't like 'em burnt?"

"That ain't--"

"A bit of char's good for you, you know. Keeps your teeth clean. Or maybe," and suddenly there's an edge to Rufus's voice, arch and scoffing, "you think we shoulda _talked_ this old lady out of haunting the schoolhouse. Asked her nicely to stop caning folks for not livin' up to her standards of discipline and decorum." He gives Bobby a hard look, eyes glittering in the firelight, as he pops the marshmallow into his own mouth and sucks a sticky smear off the pad of his thumb.

Bobby rolls his eyes, offended. "I ain't totally green, you know."

"Oh, you're green. You are green, Bobby." Rufus chuckles wryly around his gooey mouthful, swallows it, then sighs. "Look. Monsters, demons, unfinished ghost business--this supernatural shit--it screws with people. Messes 'em up. Makes 'em into something _other than_." His gaze darts around Bobby's face, shrewd, before he turns his attention to the other two marshmallows cooling on his stick. "Messes up the rest of us, too, just for gettin' close. Just for havin' to deal with it. Especially for havin' to deal with it, sometimes, and I know you know how that goes."

Bobby'd had a fading black eye at the funeral, and stitches in his lip, and cracked ribs. Karen's brother and aunt had both wanted an open casket--and it could've been; all the damage had been to her body, not to her head--but Bobby had put his foot down. The closed lid hadn't kept him from seeing her in his mind's eye all throughout the service, though, seeing her as she'd been: mouth grinning wickedly and eyes black as sin.

He'd put his foot down with Rufus, too. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been a funeral at all.

"Respect the people," Rufus says, and he sounds so grudging that Bobby's almost dragged into a smile despite himself. "For what they're worth. But the shit they turn into, and the shit they leave behind..." He sighs again. Then, with a crinkle of plastic, he worms his hand into the bag of marshmallows and pulls out another handful, starts sliding them onto his now-empty skewer with businesslike efficiency. "Man, you ain't gonna help nobody bein' precious."

It's been less than a year, Bobby thinks. Less than a year, but it feels like such an _old_ ache. "I might be a little green," he allows, and waits for Rufus to look up at him before fixing him with his gaze. Narrowing his eyes. "I _ain't_ precious."

Rufus narrows his own eyes right back.

Rufus really likes burnt marshmallows. Eventually, Bobby has to get his own stick.

* * *

It's been less than a year, but the months that've passed have included hard Fall rains, Winter snows, and Spring melts: the earth of Karen's grave is well-settled. Aside from the occasional grunt or curse of effort, Bobby and Rufus are silent, saving their breath for digging.

When they've uncovered the casket, Rufus straightens, tosses his shovel out of the pit, and hoists himself wordlessly up after it. Bobby waits for the sounds of him above to fade off into the distance before he breaks the coffin's fasteners.

The fire's guttering low much later when Bobby, staring straight ahead at the rural darkness of almost three in the morning, asks, "What, no marshmallows?"

There's a pause before Rufus answers. "Killed a wendigo outside Baudette last week," he says evenly. "Finished off the bag."

Bobby nods.

It's his second salt and burn.


End file.
